


They Were Roommates

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Boys Kissing, College, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, M/M, Not by Derek or Stiles, One Shot, Roommates, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles was so excited to get into college, then he got stuck with his quiet, broody roommate Derek Hale and things took an unexpected turn.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 14
Kudos: 450





	They Were Roommates

The room was pretty small, but Stiles expected that much when it came to living on campus. There was a small bed pushed up against one wall and the other on the other side of the room, a small bedside table sitting beside each of them. Two desks were fitted into small alcoves at the end of each bed and a door that led to a small bathroom.

Stiles’ side of the room was decorated with posters and strings with photos of him and his friends or of him and his dad pegged to it. His desk was covered in piles of scattered papers, folders full of printed worksheets, half-written essays, notebooks, and textbooks, scattered pens and neon coloured highlighters buried between sedimentary layers of paper.

But the part of dorm life Stiles wasn’t prepared for was his roommate—Derek Hale.

Derek was so quiet and reserved, and his face was set in a constant scowl. He hardly ever spoke and spent most of his time studying or sitting on his bed reading. He didn’t seem to have any friends; he seemed like just another stuck up rich kid who got into college through his family’s money and didn’t care about being there, unlike Stiles who had spent his final few years of high school scraping together every penny he could to afford to go to college.

The most conversation he got from the guy was when he asked when Stiles would be back from class or if Stiles was meeting up with friends.

Stiles’ phone buzzed. He picked it up and read the message from Scott.

‘ _We’re on our way to the bar. We’ll be there in about 10 minutes.’_

Stiles typed out a quick reply – ‘ _On my way there now, see you there’_ – and grabbed his jacket. He pocketed his phone and grabbed his keys, heading for the door.

“I’m heading out,” he told Derek, out of courtesy more than anything.

“What time will you be back?” Derek asked, not looking up from where he sat at his desk, reading a textbook.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “Eleven-thirty—twelve, maybe.”

 _Sorry if that inconveniences you_ , Stiles thought bitterly, shrugging on his jacket.

Derek didn’t say anything else; he just nodded.

“Don’t wait up,” Stiles said jokingly, as he left the room.

He shut the door behind himself and made his way down the hallway and out into the cool evening air. He buried his hands in his pockets and trudged down the footpath that led through campus and to the street where the bar was.

Stiles pushed open the glass door, stepping into the warmth. He looked around, spying Isaac and Scott sitting in the booth in the corner of the room.

He slid into the worn leather seat, smiling as Scott slid a drink over to him.

It was the first of many—too many.

Stiles drunkenly staggered down the path that led across campus. The world spun nauseatingly around him, undulating like the waves of the ocean. He swayed about as he struggled to stay upright, his eyes heavy and his vision blurred.

The lights that lined the street behind him cast an eerie glow across the dew-glistened grass and the path. Small lamps lined the edges of the path, the glare of their light making Stiles squint.

He kept his eyes down, trying o focus on following the pale gravel footpath. The only sound that reached his ears was the crunch of the gravel beneath his shoes and the sound of his own uneven breath.

He felt a nauseous wave of bile rise into his throat, swallowing hard as he struggled to stay upright on his feet. He stopped for a second, doubling over as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Hey,” someone called out to him.

He looked up, barely making out the silhouette of a man coming towards him. He was tall and built. He had light brown hair and wore a red and white sports jacket.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, craning his neck slightly to look at Stiles’ face.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, his words slurred as he tried to wave off the man’s concerns. He blinked heavily, trying to clear his vision and get a look at the man’s face. “Just had one—or six—too many.”

He heard the man chuckle lowly, the sound filling Stiles with a strange sense of unease and dread. He looked up at the man, his gut sinking as he saw the twisted smile on the stranger’s face.

“Let me help you,” the man said, holding out his hand to Stiles.

“I’m fine,” Stiles insisted, trying to sound convincing. “Really.”

Stiles straightened, swaying as the world spun around him. The bile rose into his throat again, his head pounding as he struggled to stay upright.

Stiles felt panic settle into his chest, his heart pounding as his mind screamed at him to get away—get back to his dorm.

”Please,” the man said, a hint of finality and forcefulness in his voice as he took a step forward.

He grabbed Stiles’ arm in a vice grip, a jolt of pain sobering Stiles slightly.

“I insist.”

Derek looked up from his textbook, glancing over at the alarm clock that sat on his bedside table. The bright green digits read 12:30.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the door.

Stiles should have been back by now.

 _Maybe he’s just staying out later than he thought,_ he told himself.

 _Or maybe something happened to him_.

The thought sent ice soaring through his veins, his chest tightening as he glanced at the door again.

He shoved back his chair, grabbing his leather jacket from where it lay over the foot of his bed. He shrugged it on and grabbed his keys and his phone, heading out of the building and following the path that Stiles would have taken—across campus and to the bar.

He felt a lump form in his throat the further he walked, swallowing hard as he tried to ignore the nauseating feeling of his stomach twisting with anxiety.

He rounded the corner of a building, his heart stopping short as he caught sight of Stiles, pinned up against a wall by a man who had his hands all over him.

Stiles was weakly swatting away his hands and trying to push away from him.

Derek felt a wave of boiling rage consume him.

“Hey!” he shouted as he ran over to the man’s side. “Get off of him.”

“Mind your own business,” the man snapped back.

“I said _get off_.”

Derek grabbed the man’s shoulder, pulling him away and slamming his fist into the man’s jaw. His knuckles collided with bone with a sickening crack.

The man fell to the ground, groaning in pain as he held his face.

It took every ounce of strength Derek had not to pin the man to the ground and throw fists until he was nothing more than a mess of blood, snot and tears.

He turned away from him, stepping over to where Stiles was slumped back against the wall of a building, struggling to stay upright. His face was a mixed expression of shock and relief, his dark eyes unfocused as he looked from the man on the ground to Derek.

“Derek?” Stiles uttered weakly, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Derek whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice drifting off.

Derek held out a hand to Stiles.

Stiles weakly lifted his arm, taking the hand Derek offered.

“Come on,” he said softly, lifting the young man’s arm over his shoulder and hoisting him upright—steadying him on his feet as he helped Stiles back down the path that led to the dorms.

They made their way down the dimly lit hallway and back into their room.

Derek carefully lowered Stiles down onto his bed, smothering a laugh as Stiles weakly flopped against the mattress and buried his face in his pillow.

Derek lifted Stiles’ legs and pulled off his shoes, setting them down beside his bed before reaching to unbuckle Stiles’ jeans.

“No,” Stiles cried weakly, his voice breaking. He kicked weakly and tried to roll away slightly.

Derek froze, his heart dropping into his gut as he realised what Stiles thought was happening.

“Stiles, I’m not—” Derek said, struggling to find his words. “Stiles, I’m not going to do anything, I promise. I just want to help you get comfortable. If you want to keep your jeans on then that’s fine.”

There was a moment of quiet where Derek thought Stiles had fallen asleep, but after a while Stiles muttered something.

“What?” Derek asked, leaning in closer.

“Off,” Stiles uttered.

“Okay,” Derek said.

He slowly reached for the button of Stiles’ jeans and helped him weakly kick his legs free. He laid the jeans over the end of his bed, pulling back the blankets and helping Stiles shuffle under them. He pulled the blanket up over Stiles’ shoulders, watching as the young man’s dark brown eyes fluttered shut; his breathing slowing to an even pace as he drifted off to sleep.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek whispered before turning off the lamp on Stiles’ bedside table and getting ready for bed himself.

Stiles slowly blinked his eyes open. He groaned, squinting against the glaring light which streamed through the gap in the curtains. He turned his face into the pillow, letting the soft cotton muffle his moan.

Everything hurt; his head, his body.

He heard the quiet _thump_ of a book shutting followed by the rustle of a blanket as someone climbed out of bed. He heard quiet footsteps across the wooden floorboards and slowly opened his eyes to see Derek standing by his bed, holding out a bottle of water and a box of aspirin.

Stiles rolled onto his side, struggling to push himself up onto his elbows.

He grimaced as pain flooded his head, whimpering quietly. He waited for the throbbing headache to settle before reaching out for the aspirin and water that Derek offered him.

“Thanks,” Stiles said weakly.

He sat upright and swallowed the aspirin, gulping down the water and relishing the refreshing taste of the water.

“Take it easy,” Derek said quietly. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said, dragging his hands down his face.

He leant back against the wall, looking at Derek in confusion.

“How did you know to come looking for me?” Stiles asked. “How did you know I needed help?”

“You said you’d be back around midnight,” Derek replied matter-of-factly. “And when you weren’t, I went looking for you.”

“Is that why you asked me what time I was coming home?”

“Yeah,” Derek answered, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I thought you were asking because you were mad at me for staying out so late,” Stiles admitted. “I thought you hated me because I was inconveniencing you with my coming and going all the time.”

Derek dropped his gaze. “I guess I do come off a bit abrasive. Sorry.”

“No,” Stiles said softly. “I’m sorry. I never tried to get to know you; I thought I knew the kind of person you were and I judged you—pretty harshly.”

“And I never tried to get to know you either,” Derek admitted, his voice soft. “I thought it’d be easier if I kept my distance… I’ve never been any good at making friends.”

“Neither have I.”

Stiles drew in a deep breath, sitting upright.

“Can we start again?” he asked.

A small smile turned up the corner of Derek’s lips. “I’d like that.”

Stiles felt his heart flutter. He’d never seen Derek like this; his harsh edges were softening and his glacial cold exterior had shattered.

“I’ll go get you something to eat. Try and drink a bit more water and get some rest,” Derek said quietly, turning towards the door.

“Derek,” Stiles called after him.

Derek turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t think straight,” Stiles huffed, slumping pack against the side of his bed.

The two of them had opted to sit on the floor in the space between their beds, sitting opposite each other and leaning back against their mattresses as they studied; their textbooks, notebooks, a few packets of chips and cans of soda scattered around them.

He loved the moments like this; when it was just the two of them.

It had started out as a friendship, spending time together between classes, but soon they grew closer, and before they knew it, they had become something more.

A small smirk turned up the corner of Derek’s lips, but he didn’t look up from where his laptop rested in his lap, his fingers tapping at the keys as he typed out his essay.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh. He shifted slightly, nudging Derek with his foot.

Derek shook his head, still not looking up from his assignment.

A mischievous smile lit up Stiles’ face as he ran his foot along the inside of Derek’s leg—that got his attention.

“Stiles,” Derek said warningly, still smiling.

“Derek,” Stiles whined playfully in return.

Stiles’ smile grew as he carefully set his laptop aside, stretching out further as he brushed his foot against Derek’s calf.

Derek moved faster than Stiles expected, tossing his computer onto his bed and grabbing Stiles’ ankle. He pulled Stiles forward—smirking devilishly as a surprised yelp escaped Stiles’ lips. He leant over Stiles, pinning him to the floor and bringing their mouths together.

He felt Stiles smile against his lips.

Stiles’ breath escaped him as he melted into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as he cupped Derek’s face with one hand; his other hand running up Derek’s side and up to his shoulder, holding him close.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. He tilted his chin, deepening the kiss.

He drew back slowly, grinning at the euphoric expression on Stiles’ face as the young man tilted his chin and chased Derek’s lips.

Derek chuckled against his mouth as he brought their lips back together again. He kissed him lightly, drawing away quickly as he craned his neck and placed a trail of kisses across the boy’s cheek, jaw, chin, and neck, kissing every inch of skin.

He pulled back, sitting up and straddling Stiles’ waist.

“There’s no way I’m thinking straight now,” Derek said quietly.

A smug smile lit up Stiles’ face as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, bringing his lips to Derek’s again.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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